Hot Chocolate
by Thatonecleverkid
Summary: Fluffy Modern AU where Jack is a professional ice skater and North no longer has any idea how to parent him now that Jack's a parent. Mentions drinking, partying, and unintended pregnancy. No pairings.


**Author's Note: This is my first attempt at an ROTG fic. I'm still not very happy with the way it reads - probably a direct result of this piece being written in under thirty minutes during a late-night cramming session. I tried to clean it up a little but honestly I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. The lines about Sophie's bedtime story are a quote from a book my grandfather always read to me when it was time for bed, All Those Secrets of the World, written by the talented Jane Yolen. Thank you so much for reading! **

Ice skates shriek against the ice, carving their own stories into the map of the rink. A snow-haired boy whips blindly past the man who's come looking for him. _Just look at him,_ thought North, hearing the tinge of pride in his own thoughts. He watched his ward, lanky and strong, practicing for his skating competition this Saturday. Jack was wearing blue again, fourth day in a row. _Always with the blue!_ His skates skimmed so smoothly it looked to North as though the boy were flying. _How can that be the same boy who calls himself a failure? He hasn't turned out so badly, after all. _North smothered a grin his bristly beard.

North hefted the tiny girl in his arms, raising her to get a better view of her young father. "Dada!" she calls excitedly, and the simple sound is enough to cause Jack to drop the remnant of his routine - after all, he's been practicing all day! - and race up to them with long, powerful strokes. "How ya doin', Sophie girl?" He coos to her. She giggles. Sophie all but tumbles from North's arms, layered with tattoos he no longer regrets, into Jack's pale, toned ones. Jack smiles a thank-you to North and darts off, carrying Sophie away from the rink walls and crashing bodies of practicing children.

Jack sets his little daughter down carefully, hands under her armpits, and lets her scrabble forwards in her tiny pink skates. He never looses patience, even though he must admit it confuses him that she seems not to possess his natural talent. Instead, Jack provides a steady stream of prompting, praise, and encouragement. "That's it, Sophie! Ah, whoops! Oho, try again!" He took a firmer grip on Sophie as her feet criss-crossed each other. "Here, snowflake, move your feet like Daddy does." Well, she's just a toddler. Who could expect an ice pixie performance from her yet? Jack tugs her through figure eights, Sophie squealing in his ear to show her enthusiasm.

North watches a bit longer. He wants to give credit where credit is due. Jack has never shied away from calling Sophie his daughter, North remembers warmly. And he always addressed himself to Sophie as "Daddy." Every spare minute, Jack was reading to Sophie or driving her to the park, or the zoo, or a museum. And before Sophie was even born, Jack spent months practicing enunciating, eager to pass on good speaking patterns to Sophie. He was always trying to make Sophie's life fun and easy. _He really loves her_, North confirmed to himself, turning away. He had to get back to work.

But - this was Jack! Jack, who bleached his feathery brown hair once for a show and decided to keep it that way. Jack, who had refused to step into a role at North's Toy Company, despite the easy, lucrative work. Instead, he chose to do something "more fun," professional ice skating. A life of cold, and stretchy, skin-tight costumes, and no weekly paycheck. This was Jack, who went out angry one night and got as drunk as a lord. Jack, who went off with a raven-haired girl that night and came home from the hospital nine months later with a beautiful, happy little girl whose mother wanted nothing to do with her. North starts his red convertible with a puzzled frown. Why was it that Jack Frost - Manny Moon's boy, for heaven's sake! - was such an excellent guardian for his bright, blue-eyed wisp of a girl?

Inside the rink, Jack continues to amuse Sophie until he sees Miss Bennett and her toddler class beginning to form. Jack skates up, towing Sophie, and carefully releases her into Miss Bennett's capable hands. He sits a little apart from the other parents, but always ends up drifting right into their midst so he can have the clearest possible view of Sophie. The waiting parents, all middle-aged mothers, are confused as to how to treat this charming young man who often seems to be a better father than their own husbands, yet is younger than some of their sons. Jack takes Sophie to these classes twice a week, because he thinks that he's not much of a teacher, and _somebody_ has to teach Sophie how fly.

At last, the class is over. Jack helps Sophie remove her skates. He has a pocket in his gym bag set aside specially for them. Jack lifts Sophie onto his shoulders. "How was class, snow angel?" he asks, and Sophie laughs and begins jabbering about one of the older boys, Jamie. Jack laughs. "Yeah, Jamie's a great kid, huh, Soph?" He lowers her to his arms as they cross the parking lot. The wind bites their cheeks. Jack bends down and gently nips the tip of Sophie's nose, turning it even pinker. "Dada!" Sophie protests, but she chuckles at him. Jack buckles Sophie into her car seat and covers her with blankets. "Brrrrrrr!" Jack tells her, giving her butterfly kisses until she squeals and shoves his face away.

"Shunglasshes!" Sophie demands, sticking out her tongue and speaking around it. "Whah ebah oo wan, Thofie," says Jack, sticking his tongue out too. He pulls her pink, heart-shaped sunglasses from the seatback pocket and she puts them on, insisting Jack don his sunglasses too. Jack's are blue, which pleases Sophie. Jack grins at his daughter in the rearview mirror and buckles himself into the driver's seat. They drive along talking with their tongues out for as long as Jack can stand it. Jack presses a button on the dashboard when his tongue feels dry from being stuck out too long. The CD player turns on, playing the Nutcracker Suite, Sophie's favorite. It's slowly grown on Jack, too. He hums along quietly, tapping his finger on the steering wheel.

"Dada, I wan ice-cream," Sophie announces from the backseat. It's a long stoplight, so Jack smiles at her in the rearview mirror again. "You're as crazy as E. Aster!" he cries. "It's cold outside, Soph! That means it's time for hot chocolate." Sophie claps and bicycles her feet. "Want hot chocolate, then!" she chirps, and Jack pulls up to their apartment with many assurances that the desired beverage would indeed be prepared.

Sophie grips Jack tightly until he turns on the apartments lights. She's always been a little cautious of the dark, and Jack has a selfish habit of waiting just a split-second before he flicks on the switch because Sophie, for her all her playfulness, rarely hugs him. Swaddling her in blankets, Jack sets Sophie down in front of the Barbie Nutcracker movie before he goes around the divider into the kitchen to make the hot chocolate. He almost scalds the milk because he was watching over the wall in spite of himself. "Way to go, Frost. Distracted by a kid's movie," he grumbles to himself. He's careful never to mock Sophie's movies aloud. He doesn't want her to feel ashamed or to grow up any faster than she is already.

Jack carries a sippy cup of hot chocolate to Sophie and flops down on the loveseat, long legs dangling off the armrest. Sophie sees her chance and pounces on him. "Oh, no! Sweetheart, Daddy really needs to get up and take a shower. He's all sweaty." No response. "Sophie, Daddy smells stinky!" Jack protests, but Sophie lays with her back on his chest and shakes her head stubbornly. Soon the blanket covers them both and Jack is more than half asleep and it doesn't matter that his mug of chocolate is on the kitchen counter getting cold or that he's going to have to deal with a gym bag that smells like ripe socks tomorrow. Sophie hums along to the pieces she recognizes and Jack turns his face into the sofa to make sarcastic faces to match the forced dialog.

When North comes home, he finds them that way, Jack watching in defeat, Sophie dragging him up to dance with her to the credits music. Jack gives in immediately. Sophie chooses to imitate Jack's graceful movements instead of the shadowy ballerinas onscreen, which North does not fail to notice. "Anything for Sophie, eh?" North teases, carrying the Indian takeout boxes to the kitchen table. "Anything," confirms Jack, ruffling Sophie's hair. "Let's go wash our hands for dinner, okay?" Sophie runs to the kitchen sink, giggling. North helps her clean up while Jack sets paper plates and pours their cups of water.

After their spicy meal, North has to spend some quality time with his porcelain throne. In the other bathroom, Jack gives Sophie a very splashy bath. He puts her into her pajamas and sets her in a play-pen right outside his open bathroom door and talks to her around the curtain as he showers. Sophie can't stand to be left alone, so this has always been their ritual. North reads Sophie a bedtime story as Jack cleans up the kitchen. _"Once upon a time," it began. "Happily ever after," it ended._ Jack carried Sophie off to brush her teeth and tuck her into bed. North leaned against the wall in the hallway outside.

Jack sang a quiet lullaby, since he thought North couldn't hear. "_Rock-a-bye, Sophie, in the treetops/ when the wind blows, your cradle will rock,_" sang Jack, "_When the dawn breaks, your cradle floats down. And here is my princess, wearing a crown_. Goodnight, princess. It's time for you to go to sleep." Sophie mumbled sleepily, "Are you sure, Dada?" Jack chuckled. "Yeah, I'm sure. The moon told me. Sweet dreams, snow angel." North hurried down the hallway and busied himself arranging paperwork on his half of the kitchen table.

"I need to take Sophie shopping this weekend. After my competition, maybe," said Jack, carrying his heavy backpack from his room to the kitchen table. "She's outgrown her brown corduroys and she ripped a hole in her pink jeans last week." He began spreading out his homework, arranging it semi-neatly in imitation of North's stacks. "Hmm," North responds, holding a sheet of paper to the light. They always work like this, chatting occasionally. North always has a beer and Jack, who hasn't touched alcohol since that fateful night, usually has a can of soda. Tonight is no different from usual, except that for now Jack is drinking from a mug of reheated cocoa.


End file.
